some thoughts on meals on wheels

This has been a post in the making for a long time. I never found enough will to sit down and put them into words. Somehow, I find myself mulling on this topic now, and am jotting down as it comes.

The following is based on some of my journeys over the past 5 years. A lot of changes have caught my fancy over these years. I may not be informed enough to cover it all chronologically or in depth but, I shall touch upon some that I have found interesting. To name a few : The introduction of Duranto as an addition to the then already existing rajdhani and shatabdi, the AC SF trains introduced much later catering the ‘posh’er crowd with great benefit to railways, the creative addition of mud cups for tea in one of the budgets (which sadly never took off) the improved signalling systems, excellent improvement in passenger facilities at stations (within the realms of possibility)....
Recently, day trains were converted to cater to 'en route' traffic rather than point to point traffic (of the top of my head, brindhavan exp, janmabhoomi, chamundi, exam special from sc to hwh). The replacement of reserved coaches in super-fast trains with unreserved coaches in a brilliant initiative. There is also the emergence of online portals, real time information,etc. which, though not robust enough for praise, are still commendable.

A lot of changes have also piqued me. Trip planning, route scheduling & introducing new trains are almost a regular part of improving the railways. They add more assets. But, I have a bone to pick with the maintenance of the rolling stock and passenger amenities inside coaches. The new inclination towards privatization makes me a bit uncomfortable.The perception that govt. and govt aided organisations that handle transactions are slow is a given. The quality of the work may or may not meet standards. True. I believe even if there are instances of malpractice, there is an argument for controlling the impending privatization.

Maintenance in Indian Railway was famously privatised a few years back. The catering and the cleaning were out sourced. The main issue that promoted this was probably the sub-standard to pedestrian quality of maintenance in certain sectors. Having traveled in the MAS HWH stretch when I was a kid, I can assure you that the food was hardly edible on those journeys. The coaches were rarely clean and with the old sodium vapour lamps, there was a general mood of Sickness and waste. Not all of them, mind you. I would take a train to trichy or Coimbatore after reaching Chennai and these day trains would offer delicious treats throughout the journey.

Almost 15 years hence, when I have started travelling again, this time because my job demands it, I’m sometimes taken back to those times and it is not a pleasant experience.I am going to base all the objections I have solely on my experiences and it may not be a trend in other sectors that I have not traveled.

The MAS HWH stretch that I now regularly take is served by a set of people who hound for tips, they over-charge and under-serve. There is just one option, A biryani for dinner. You can take a pick from egg, veg or chicken and if you are a vegetarian you are doomed. This biriyani, served by ‘meals on wheels’ is an abomination. The breakfast options consist of bread or upma,every morning and on every journey, everyday. I was shocked to find that the "prestigious and famous" TN exp had nothing better to offer either. The quantities are little and the quality is even worse. Aren’t we entitled to healthy meal? I remember , when they were introduced on these routes, the prices went up on the promise of food of better quality. So why are we being cheated?

A few years ago, I would have jumped on to the privatization bandwagon at the blink of an eye. Now, after a job change, after enlightenment( baptism probably), I have come to realize that there are no more chances for malpractice with private contractors than there are with the govt. sector. why? Simple, Profits.

During the four years of hostel, we got to eat both in govt. run messes as well as private messes. It was a period of transition and by the final year, all messes were let out to private caterers through 'open' tenders. In the third year of college, The food seemed tasty for the first few months. Thinking back, I realize it was more due to the change of hands rather than actual improvement in the taste or cooking. By the end of that semester the food had riveted to the old quality in addition to this: in the name of reducing wastage, a few people who came late did not get to eat after the mess hours. When enquired about the quality, the contractor explained “It is true that we cater to SASTRA as well, we charge them almost two times what we charge your college. Your tender is awarded to the lowest bidder and sometimes, we have to account for kickbacks too, so at the cost at which we are serving you, we are barely making profits”. He might have had a few more drinks than normal. But he was succinct in all his replies that day.

Government agencies are slow, ineffective and lethargic. But they are not driven by profit; in reality they are hardly driven. In some cases though, I find lethargy and predictability more comfortable than the disappointment in the promise of better service. Recently, I chanced to travel by the MAS SBC double decker. The prices were lower than the HWH MAS mail, that had dropped off at MAS in the morning. I asked him why I had to pay 10 for the same tea on board HWH MAS mail, and he remarked “I don’t know sir, we charge rates only based on what is set by the railways”. Now, does the prices vary from zone to zone? dunno....

Ironically though, I liked the cheaper one better.

dear dad...

Some families express their love effusively, through hugs, kisses and tears. In some, the expression is more sober. You are conscious of the fierce affection, but it stops with that. The expression comes out through the words, the way certain things are handled when you are around and the small smile every now and then that is reserved only for you.

We are the second kind, and you are my first teacher. I would always be your son even if you disown me. My decisions would always be slow, circumspect and calm. My tastes will always be a bit sedate. My tone will always be polite. Not because I can’t change it but because these are traits that idols instill insidiously. Your traits.

There are other things I aspire to be. To be responsible, to be regular and to take decisions confidently & face problems with conviction. I aspire to reach your high standards. There have been times in the past when I have felt that I have been dropped off at the deep end of the pool. But it did foster independence of thought and action, an independence that was always laced with a few shots of responsibility. I have sometimes cursed you under my breath for not taking my decisions when I faced a tough dilemma. But those were low points and I halve also cursed the cupboard in the hall and the lizard on the wall at other times.
Whether it is hero worship or genetics (or a bit of both), I have come to resemble you in a lot of ways. It gives me great joy when I realise accidentally that some of actions are very similar to yours. Though, the grip and the general writing style resembles that of mom’s, the ‘S’ on note I had scribbled the other day had an uncanny resemblance to my your ‘S’. That made my day. I had this small lingering smile for the next ten min. 

Trust grows over time. And with trust comes confidence. Once I had your trust and knew you that you were happy with my actions, I was confident I was making sensible decisions. I also knew that my thought process didn’t cross the imaginary lines of moral propriety. Unfortunately, independence of thought breeds opinions. As I grew up, I had my own take on the things around me, either backed by logic or by gut. I also knew that the core values carved in me through years of parental tutelage, would still guide me on my decisions subconsciously. It still does stand me in good stead when in doubt. But, when a decision is questioned - A decision that seems so easy on the surface, a decision so organic with the ethics that I have imbibed - it threatens to unhinge me. I lose my identity.

I have been brought up to be polite. I have been brought up to respect people. I have been taught not to discriminate. I have been taught to love; to be compassionate. I have been taught not to cry and throw a tantrum when rebutted but stand up and argue with my head than my heart. Are these worthless? Aren’t they absolute? Are they valid only conditionally? If yes, I didn’t know about this then. Aren’t we supposed to be consistent with who we are? Isn’t integrity a good thing? I don’t know.

The heart did take over this time. Once the heart takes over there is no control over your actions. You express it earnestly. Emotions are in its purest form(whatever that means) when it is straight from the heart.  I remember this story mom narrates about how you got me a folding cot because I wanted one. She also continued with some scorn, at the speed with which it was bought home because I had asked for it, without heeding her advice. That is love. That is all heart. That is me, now. I am just older and I happen to love someone else as much as I love the both of you. But, I let myself go only when the mind was ok with it. I knew then, as now, that I wasn’t crossing any lines of impropriety with my decision.

I am not fighting you now, I am not your enemy, I am just you, in a different time and at a different age. I am someone who has grown up with access to better things. It is a flip of a coin they say, this privilege. I am always thankful to you for that and always been proud of what you have managed to provide for me. But this is not a market. I don’t owe you anything. My love for you doesn’t have a cost. It exists, like yours for me. That doesn’t give you the right to my life. This is not arrogance. This is just me being assertive, something you taught me to be, and something that makes me who I am. By denying me this happiness, you are shaking the foundation of what you have built. Please, I beg of you, please, let me go. I will be ok, I know I will, you know I will be too.

Maybe I’m wrong. But let me learn for myself; find the world out for myself, like you always have. I am confident now and am better armed. I will be ok.

Love you,

son.   

the bus

With a smile playing at the corners of his lips, the boy runs behind the bus and in one fluid leap, hops into it. Being the last bus, the seats are in great demand. He finds a spot beside an old man. As he nears him, the man assaults his nostrils. The man reeks of alcohol. The boy is repulsed, “these alcoholics… stinky breath… so dirty…”.He quickly scans the bus again and spots another seat empty; this one beside an avuncular gentleman who seems to be amused at the boy’s repulsion. The man motions him to join him.

*************

A lot of people have pushed their way inside before the bus lurches ahead, starting from a stop en route . The mad rush bordering on stampede is typical of certain stops which scares even seasoned drivers into stopping the bus a few paces after the bus stand. The boy is squeezed, on the left by a head of teeming legs and on the right by the man seated beside him who refuses to give quarter.

The bus brakes violently; the driver swears loudly; the boy curses severely. A motorist passes by, oblivious to all this, absolving himself of any guilt. “I’m sorry, please forgive me”, the man sitting next to the boy apologises. He blabbers a few more apologies incoherently. The boy is amused. “It is ok,  busses brake and people fall… why is this uncle apologising so profusely?” The ‘uncle' comically gropes for a handle as the bus lurches ahead again’.

The boy is still cramped for room, his posture starting to tire him. He squirms a little and adjusts his posture a little to fit into the now constricted space. As he settles down into reasonable comfort, he is conscious of the man’s hand resting on his knee. He feels strangely reassured. “Only three more stops to go… then dinner”

**************

With just one stop to go, the boy‘s wandering thoughts come back to the road. He checks his bearings once, mentally composing himself for the ordeal of wading to exit. He lets out a deep breath and as he readies himself to get up, he's aware of the man’s hand. It has inched upward from where it was earlier. "what?". He looks at the man quizzically.

There is a gleam in the man’s eye “don’t resist, you will feel good, be calm, let me keep my hands here...” The boy is shocked. He doesn’t 'feel good' at all. In fact the whole thing feels weird. He knows whatever is happening is not right. It can’t be right. Sensing the boy’s panic, the man inches his hand higher up the boy’s leg, rubbing slowly. “Calm down son, I won’t harm you; I’m like a father to you…”

The bus comes to a stop at that precise moment and the boy, with great relief jumps out of the bus. The bus waits for the signal to turn green while the boy stands beside it, disoriented. He doesn’t mind the fact that he'd jumped out at a signal. He doesn't mind the walk to his home either. He shivers a little, he doesn’t know why. He still feels the man’s hands on his legs, he still feels it rubbing against his legs. He feels extremely filthy. “Why did he have to do that? Bastard. Maybe I should have taken the seat next to that drunkard.”